


Greet the Greats

by Ytteb



Category: NCIS
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-21 06:42:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15551931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ytteb/pseuds/Ytteb
Summary: An exploration of what happened to Tony after he left NCIS (and perhaps before as well)Please note that though this is tagged as 'Major Character Death' I haven't tagged it as tragedy so you might not find this too angsty … but perhaps you will!I will add characters to the tags as I introduce them.I've gifted this to Jane_x80 because the whole idea arose from a comment she made in response to another story … she warned me of the possible consequences of writing a MCD story ...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jane_x80](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jane_x80/gifts).



 

Foreboding hung heavy in the air and the light was fading fast as the young couple made their wary way forward.

“Em,” said the man, “Let’s leave it.  Come back tomorrow!”

“No,” came the firm reply, “I’m sure there’s something here … I’m sure I saw it.  Come on!”  She tugged at her companion’s hand and he, unwillingly, followed her.

The hoot of an owl nearby added to the gloomy atmosphere and it seemed almost as if the light faded a little at the sound.

“Em …” said the young man again, “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes!  I can see something.  Look!”  She pointed to the tangle of brambles and branches which lay in their path.

“What?  I can’t see anything.”  For answer, Em pointed again.  “I see it too,” he exclaimed, “What is it?”  He peered at the grey shape which lay huddled in the midst of the briars.

“I think it’s …” Em trailed off doubtfully.

Now it was the young man who took the lead, “Let’s find out!”  He looked around him and, finding a tree branch lying on the ground, seized it and used it to pull away the undergrowth which was obscuring a shape which had been long hidden.

The long shape finally revealed, he turned to Em and asked, “You ready?”

Em nodded, “I guess.”  She stooped and reached out a tentative hand to touch the greyness. “Oh!” she exclaimed as she drew her hand back immediately.

“What?”

“It’s cold … and damp …”

“Let me see …”

“No,” said Em, “I’ll do it.”  She leaned forward once more, and steadying herself, brought out a torch.  The light from the torch seemed to make the surrounding shadows even darker … the owl hooted once more.  Em cleared away some clinging ivy and then swallowed as she shone the torch on to the grey object.  She gasped as the light revealed the end of their search,

_Here lies the body of Anthony DiNozzo: 1972 to 2069._

There was a sudden glare of light,

“Cut!” shouted the director.  “Good work, Em … and Pete!  I think that’s all we need.  We’ll go for some close shots but that’s you done for the day.”

“You OK, Em?” asked Pete.

“Yeah.  Of course,” said Em, “I mean, I knew what we were going to find … I guess I got wrapped up in it a bit too much.”

“You sure?” asked Pete, “I mean, they made it pretty spooky.  I think the owl might have been a step too far …” he gazed at his companion, “Hey, you sure you’re OK?”

“I’m fine,” insisted Em, “But … you mind if we …”

“Miss Mark!” came the producer’s voice.

Em sighed but her professionalism won out and she summoned a welcoming smile, “What is it, Malcolm?”

“Wanted to know if you need a ride back to the pub?  The crew’s winding up for the day.”

“No,” said Em, “I’ll stay here a while … then walk back.  You know, clear my head?”

“You sure?” asked Malcolm.

“I’m sure,” smiled Em.

“Pete?” asked the producer.

“No, I’m fine.  Thanks.”

It wasn’t long before Pete and Em were alone in what, away from the shrouded woody area, was actually now quite a bright summer afternoon.

“You sure you’re OK?” asked Pete again as he put an arm around her shoulder.

“Yes … or, I will be.  It’s just been more emotional than I thought it would be.”

“You’ve seen _Greet the Greats_ on TV … you know what it’s like,” Pete pointed out.  “Some celebrities find it to be a real emotional roller coaster.”

“I know,” admitted Em, laying her head on Pete’s shoulder, “But I guess I thought I’d be more in control.  I’m an actress for God’s sake, I thought I’d be playing a part.”

“So, you thought it would be Emilia Mark, Oscar winning actress, on display rather than Emily DiNozzo?”

“I guess.  But it’s a great chance to dig back into the family history.  I never knew my great grandfather – he was 97 when he died and that was nearly 30 years before I was born.  I’ve spoken to my grandparents … to my parents and Auntie Nicky … and I can tell they adored him but that perhaps there was something they didn’t know about him.  _Greet the Greats_ seemed a heaven-sent chance to find out more.  After all, the show has resources I can’t tap into.”

“I know,” said Pete soothingly, “And I understand … I just don’t want you getting upset.  Not now!”

“I won’t,” promised Em.  “Don’t worry!”

“Well,” said Pete, “If you say so … but you have to admit that that scene was set up like something out of a Hammer House of Horror movie!”

“I know,” giggled Em, “The toppled over gravestone, lying in a deserted wood … they’ll probably shop in some footage of clouds scudding across a full moon as well!”

“And I’m not sure the church … or the rest of the family … will be pleased when they see it,” said Pete.

“I’ll explain,” said Em, “Tell them that it’s a feature of the programme.  They always have to have some dramatic disclosure at the beginning.  And I figure that, as we’re in England, they thought that mist, fog and damp were pre-requisites.”

“I’ll leave that in your capable hands … now, let’s head back.  There’s a pint of bitter waiting for me.”

“In a minute,” said Em, “Can we can go and have a look at the real grave?”

“Again?  _Em_?” said Pete with a hint of a whine.

“Please?  I just want to look at it again.  I don’t want to go to sleep with the vision of that neglected headstone … it was too sad.”  Em’s voice caught on a sob.

“You know,” said Pete severely, “Method acting is all well and good … but …”

“Idiot,” said Em fondly, “Come on.  It’s on our way anyway.”

Pete and Em turned their back on the mocked up grave stone and walked towards a corner of the country church graveyard.  Near the hedge, they saw two well-kept graves with rose bushes flowering over them.

Em knelt and traced the wording on one of the gravestones, “ _Catherine Sophia DiNozzo, born 1985, died 2070, beloved wife of Anthony_.  Hello, Great Granny,” she whispered.  Then she stretched out a hand to the other stone, “ _Anthony DiNozzo, born 1972, died 2069, adored husband of Catherine._   Hi, Great Grandpa … I’ve heard so much about you,” she chuckled, “And some of it is good … and from what I hear, you’d be surprised to know that people had a high opinion of you.  Like great-granddaughter like great-grandfather, I guess!  You know, I think you’d be proud …”

“Em!” said Pete, “Come on, it’s getting late.  You can come back tomorrow and talk to him.  And you know that tomorrow is when they start telling you what they’ve found out about _your_ great!”

“I know,” sighed Em, “Hey, help me up, why don’t you?”  When she was standing again, she touched the grave stones gently, “Au revoir! I’ll be back tomorrow,” she sighed, “Hey, Pete, you think I could buy some flowers in the village?  I’d like to bring them something.”

“Sure,” said Pete.  “You’ll need to check you buy something rabbits don’t like to munch on!”

“What?”

Pete pointed to the droppings around the hedge.  “You forget – I did a voiceover for Peter Rabbit in the Beatrix Potter remake … I know about these things!”

“Idiot!” said Em, “And I think it was a remake of a remake of a remake …”

“All right, Miss Pernickety … and don’t forget, I brought you a Peter Rabbit plush toy!”

“Yes, you did, my McHero!”

Peter McHugh groaned, “I thought you’d given up on the mcnicknames!”

“I know,” said Em with mock penitence, “I don’t know why but they just seem right!  Come on, McHusband, let’s go and get you that pint of bitter!”

“Now you’re talking!”

As they walked hand in hand along the English country lane, Em found herself wondering what she would find out about Anthony DiNozzo …

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the UK we have a programme called ‘Who Do You Think You Are?’ in which celebrities are helped to find out about their ancestors … I thought inventing a similar show designed to help stars find out about (‘greet’) their greats (great grandparents) would be a way of Emily finding out about her great grandfather …
> 
> So yes, I ‘killed’ Tony off but at the age of 97 … so perhaps that’s not so bad?


	2. Chapter 2

Em and Pete arrived at the Village Hall the next morning to begin work again.  The Hall had taken over for the recording and the village was mildly agog at the excitement: the crew was being well supplied with homemade cakes!

“Hi, Em … Pete,” said Malcolm.  “I’ve got the recording of that session in your Grandfather’s house – thought you could look at it before we do the next bit.  Get you in the mood, OK?”

Em nodded and gazed at the computer screen where she saw herself sitting at Mark DiNozzo’s desk …

FILM

Em spoke to someone offscreen …

“I always loved being in Grandpa’s study.  I thought it smelled … exotic!  It was years before I realised it was just the scent of menthol candy – I guess I was an odd kid!”  She inclined her head as if listening to a question,

“Oh sure.  And I loved Grandpa too!  Of course – but I liked the smell too.  Although it turned out I don’t like menthol candy!  Like I said, an odd kid.

“Grandpa always had lots of paper for me to scribble on … and sometimes I scribbled on paper I wasn’t supposed to, but he didn’t get cross … or not often.  And the other thing I liked was that he’d tell me stories about his dad – my great-grandfather, Anthony DiNozzo and I remember one day he showed me one of these …”  Em held out a DVD case towards the camera.  “I didn’t know what it was – after all we keep movies on our computers, don’t we?  Or possibly those light ray chips … so these DVDs were foreign to me – DVD stands for digital video disc, by the way.  Grandpa told me that they were old fashioned even in his father’s time, but he said that he still liked them.  Said he liked to hold them, read the covers – you get the idea.”

There was another unheard question,

“Oh yes.  And it wasn’t just one Great-grandpa had kept.  Oh no, he had about five hundred.  And Grandpa said he’d got rid of a lot of them … pared them to the bare minimum!  What was that?  Oh sure, they’re kind of a family heirloom … my inheritance.  I’m going to lend them to the British Film Institute once I can figure out how to ship them over,” she held one to her chest … but I might keep one … you can still get the machines to play them on, you know … in the flea markets and on antique stalls.”

Another mumble.

“Yes, I think you’re on to something.  Music runs in my family – I’m the only one who wanted to act.  You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if those DVDs kickstarted my movie career … I hope Great-grandpa would be proud …”

END OF FILM CLIP

“It’s good,” said Pete, “Bet your Grandpa is pleased.”

“What?  Why?” asked Em.

“Looks as if the movie crew did some dusting and polishing!”

Em grinned but decided not to pursue the subject of housework.  Instead, she turned eagerly to the producer, “So, spill.  What have you found out?” she asked.

Malcolm looked a little shifty, “Not much yet … or rather, nothing we can air.”

“What?” asked Pete.

“What do you mean _nothing you can air_?” asked Em, clearly getting ready to take up the cudgels on her ancestor’s behalf.

“Oh,” said Malcolm hastily, “Not because there’s anything _underhand_ or _unsavoury_.  No, nothing like that.  It’s just that it’s a bit _hazy._ ”

Em had relaxed a little at Malcolm’s words but frowned at this, “What does that mean, hazy?”

“We haven’t been able to confirm exactly what job he did,” explained Malcolm.  “I mean, after he left the federal agency.”

“Oh.  I always figured he was in business or something,” said Pete vaguely.

“That’s what we thought,” agreed the producer, “But now we’re not so sure.  But I have got something to show you, Em.  And I’d like us to film you watching it.”

“OK,” said Em, “Same rules apply?  I don’t want to sob my heart out too much … I get hiccoughs when I cry and it’s not a good sound …”

“That’s true,” said Pete, “Trust me … everyone would switch off if they heard it.  They’re definitely not _discreet_!”

“No worries,” said Malcolm, “We agreed … anything potentially tragic or tear-jerking we give you advance notice, so you can prepare … but this isn’t anything like that.  Promise.”

“OK,” agreed Em.  “Let’s go for it.”

The make-up artist came forward and made some adjustments to Em’s makeup; Malcolm nodded to the camera crew and shooting began.

“Em,” said Malcolm, “Have you ever heard of _Deep Six?”_

“What?”

_“Deep Six, The Continuing Adventures of LJ Tibbs?”_

“No, I don’t think so.  What is it … or what are they?”

“You know that your Great-grandfather was a federal agent … for about 15 years?”

“Sure.  Navy Criminal Investigative Service – it’s been merged in with the other Armed Forces agencies now.”

“That’s right.  Well, one of Tony DiNozzo’s co-workers was a guy called Timothy McGee …”

“And?”

“And he wrote a couple of books under the pen-name Thom E Gemcity.”

“Yes?”

“It’s an anagram of his name – Timothy McGee.  Anyway, he wrote these books about a criminal investigator called LJ Tibbs …”

“Tibbs – that sounds familiar.”

“Yeah … there was a Virgil Tibbs in an Oscar winning movie in the 1960s and 70s.  But this is a different Tibbs – although the name was probably borrowed.”

“I don’t understand,” said Em.

“Tim McGee wrote his novels but based them on his co-workers – just changed the names a bit.”

“DiNozzo doesn’t sound anything like Tibbs,” objected Em.

“No.  Their team leader was called LJ Gibbs – he was the source … the inspiration … for LJ Tibbs.  Tony DiNozzo became Agent _Tommy_.  McGee was Agent McGregor – you get the idea.”

“I guess.”

“The first book was popular … the sequel didn’t come out for years – not until McGee had left the agency.  And it was then that it was decided to make it into a movie.”

“Yes?” said Em, beginning to glimpse what might be going to happen.

“ _Deep Six_ came out in 2040.  There was a lot of publicity and one of the events was Tim McGee – Thom E Gemcity – and Tony DiNozzo talking about the book and the movie.  We found a recording of the interview.  Would you like to see it?”

“Would I?  Yes, I’d love to.  I’ve seen my Great-grandpa in home movies, but this would be different.”

Malcolm nodded, pressed a button on his computer and the interview began to play on the big screen.

“Well, folks,” said the interviewer Brent Sparks, “We’ve got a treat for you tonight!  Thom E Gemcity aka Timothy McGee is going to be talking with us about the movie of his blockbuster novel.  And what’s great is that we’ve got _Agent Tommy_ along too … to tell us what he thinks about being called _swashbuckling and socially repugnant_.  So, would you please welcome Thom E Gemcity!”

There was a round of applause as the author walked on to the set.

“Brent, it’s good to be here.”

“Good to see you … now, should I call you Thom or Tim McGee?”

“I don’t need to use the pen-name now,” said Tim, “I just used it when I was a federal agent.  Tim is fine.”

“Tim it is,” said Brent affably.  “And now, give a big welcome to Anthony DiNozzo … Agent Tommy!”

Em leaned forward eagerly as she saw Tony walk on to the set – he was 68 but walked tall and straight and had a good head of silver hair.  He walked up to Tim and they did an awkward chest bump in lieu of a hug.  “McGoo!” he said fondly.

“Er no,” said Brent anxiously, “It’s McGee … not McGoo.”

“Whatever,” said Tony, “McGoo, McGeek, McAuthor, McProbie …”

“Tony used to give me nicknames,” said Tim.

Em’s hand shot to her mouth as she stifled a giggle.

“Yes?” said Brent.

“Yes,” said Tony enthusiastically.  “I’ve got a bunch of them … do you want to hear some more?”

Tim seemed to sense that Brent would agree, “I don’t think so, Tony.  This is only a five-minute segment … and you could go on for hours!”

“True, McSage,” said Tony.  “Good move with getting rid of the face fungus by the way.  It aged you … which didn’t matter so much when you were a baby-faced McGreenie but, as you get older, you don’t want the artificial ageing.”  He smiled benignly.

Em continued to gaze at him entranced.

“Thanks for the input,” said McGee dryly.

“You’re welcome.  Anytime,” said Tony.

“So,” said Brent, “We’d hoped to get some more of your co-workers to appear … but they were all … er … otherwise occupied.”

“Yes,” said Tim regretfully, “ _Amy_ lives in a Trappist monastery in Alaska – we couldn’t get a message through to her.”

“And what about Pimmy Jalmer?” asked Brent.

“Was he called away to Polynesia?” asked Tony helpfully, “For a conference about … what was that word?  Begins necro …?”

“He was busy too,” said Tim firmly.

“We were trying to track down LJ Tibbs,” said Brent.

Tim and Tony coughed.  Tony was the first to recover, “Well, ‘ol LJ isn’t exactly the sociable sort …”

“No, I suppose someone _who drinks to relieve the burden of his Messiah complex_ might find normal socialising a little tricky,” said Brent fairly.

“He’s got a cabin in the woods,” said Tim.

“He’s waiting to be discovered for a remake of Grizzly Adams,” offered Tony.

“He’s got a bear?” asked Brent excitedly.

“He _is_ the bear!” said Tim and Tony in unison.

“Oh,” said Brent, beginning to feel the interview was slipping out of control.  “And what was LJ Tibbs like to work with?”

Tim sensed Tony winding up to say something outrageous and forestalled it by delivering a gentle head slap, “Shut it, DiNozzo!”

On screen, Brent gasped while off screen Em also gasped.  They both gasped again as they saw that Tim and Tony were laughing rather than being at each other’s throats.

“Timothy Farragut McGee!” said Tony teasingly, “What will people think?”

“They’ll probably understand where I got ‘socially repugnant’ from,” retorted Tim.

“Not nice, not nice, Timmy,” said Tony reprovingly.

Brent sensed a possible argument and leaned forward in readiness, “Yes, Tony … what did you think about being called _socially repugnant and swashbuckling_?”

“Well, at the beginning McAuthor insisted he’d created his characters from scratch and I decided that while I was definitely swashbuckling …”  He jumped to his feet and waved an imaginary sword, “What ho, me hearties!  I’ll make you walk the plank!”  Then he put his hand to his back, “Ow!  Guess I can’t jump around like I did!”  He lowered himself back to his chair a little more carefully.  “As I was saying, I decided I was the inspiration for swashbuckling but nobody who knew me could think I was socially repugnant!  Everyone loved me … didn’t they, Tim?”  Tony gazed at Tim innocently.

Tim gazed back and then broke into a grin, “That’s right, Tony.  Everybody loved you.”

Tony turned to the audience in triumph while Tim held up his crossed fingers behind Tony’s back.

“So, you’ve forgiven Tim?” asked Brent.

There was another stare exchanged between Tim and Tony before Tony smiled, “Water under the bridge.  We went through a lot together … saved each other’s lives … had each other’s back …”

“Six …” corrected Tim softly.

“Sixes,” agreed Tony, “It was what we _did_ that was important.”

“Thanks, Tony,” said Tim.

“And you _nailed_ Tibbs,” said Tony.  “I mean, not necessarily how you described him, but you nailed the things he did.”  He reached out and delivered a head slap of his own.

“What’s with those?” asked Brent, gesturing towards the hand.

“Oh,” said McGee, “The Boss … Tibbs … he used them to get our _attention_.”

“Mostly _my_ attention,” said Tony morosely.

“’Cos it was mostly you who needed to be brought back on track,” said Tim.

“You may be right,” conceded Tony, “A brilliant mind like mine has a tendency to get bored …” he paused, “What?  No sarcastic comeback, McSceptical?”

“No,” said Tim, “You did have some brilliant ideas … I just didn’t realise it so much at the time.”

“That’s OK,” said Tony kindly, “Genius is hard to understand.  I never understood half of what you said either.”

“You mean you understood _half_ of it?” said Tim.

“Well, perhaps I exaggerated a little,” said Tony a little sulkily.

“So, you’re friends now?” asked Brent.

“We were always friends,” said Tony firmly, “We just didn’t always like one another.  But the movie version of me is better than I expected …”

“The producers didn’t think we could have socially repugnant _and_ terminally gruff,” said Tim, “So the socially repugnant got toned down a tad.  But I couldn’t persuade them to dress you as a pirate with a cutlass …”

“I’m sure you tried,” said Tony, “Perhaps in the sequel … you know, some sort of dream sequence …”

“And we’ve run out of time,” announced a somewhat bemused Brent.  “It’s been an experience!  Thank you, Agents _McGregor_ and _Tommy_ … and thank _you_ , for watching!”

The camera panned towards Em who was sitting with tears running down her face.

Malcolm leaned forward in concern but then saw that she was shaking with laughter.  “My God, he’s a monster!  I _love_ him!” she said.

“Certainly explains a lot,” said Pete wryly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don’t like the idea of Tali and/or Ziva then you should probably skip this chapter …

The crew spent the rest of the morning shooting more footage of Em watching _Agents McGregor_ and _Tommy_ fighting it out although they knew that the first shots had been the best.  Finally, Em was able to slip away for a walk through the village of Bowford in the New Forest.  She had paused in front of the Post Office when she became aware of a middle-aged man who looked as if he was summoning up the courage to approach her.

“Hi,” she said, “Can I help you?”

“Afternoon … I’m sorry to bother you, Miss Mark,” came the reply.

“No bother,” said Em politely, getting ready to sign an autograph or be asked for a photograph.

“It’s just that … well, I knew Tony – Mr DiNozzo.”

“You knew my great-grandfather?”

“Yes.  Him and his missus used to rent Cobbler’s Cottage.”  He pointed down the road.

“I didn’t know that,” said Em.

“Yes.  Him and her used to live here three months and then go back to the States.  I were just a lad then.  Mum had the shop … knew everyone … and everything.”

“That’s … interesting,” said Em, preparing to move on.

“Him and me … we kept bees …”

“What?”

“Him and me …”

“Yes, I heard.  I was surprised, that’s all.”

“Oh.  OK.  When they moved in, you see … there was a couple of hives left from when old man Jeffries had the place.  He got interested.”

“And you knew about bees?”

The new companion laughed, “No.  Not then, I does now but not then!  We figured it out between us.  Got stung a lot!”

“What’s your name?”

“Steven … but Tony called me Sean.”

“Why?”

“My last name’s Connery … he said there was a film star called …”

“Sean Connery,” finished Em.  “And you let him?”

“Let him what?”

“Call you Sean?”

_Sean_ shrugged, “Didn’t make no difference to me.  And … well, it was hard to stop him.”  Em nodded, she was beginning to understand that about Tony.  “And he didn’t mean no harm by it,” said Sean.  “Said it was a compliment.”

Em nodded, “Did you like him?”

Sean’s face split into a grin, “He weren’t like no grown-up I’d ever known.  Had time for me.  Not many kids around here when I was a young’un … and he learned me a lot.”

“I’m glad,” said Em.

“Brought you this,” said Sean holding out a glass jar.  “It’s honey … I still uses the ‘ives.  Different bees now … but it tastes good.  New Forest heather, you see.”

“Thank you,” said Em, “That’s kind of you.”

“Er,” said Sean, “I got the keys to the cottage …”

“What?”

“It’s up for sale … I keeps an eye on it for the owner.  I thought you might want to see it.  The garden’s like it were when Tony and his other half was here.”

The thought of seeing somewhere where Tony had lived was suddenly very attractive to Em.  “You sure it’s no trouble?” she asked.

Sean beamed again.  “No, I need to go see how them bees is doing.”

“You keep the bees in the cottage garden?”

“Yep.  I’ll have to move’em when the place gets sold … but some folks like to have bees in the garden.  Good for the flowers.”

“I’d love to see the cottage,” said Em eagerly.

“Then we’ll go and see what they be up to,” said Sean serenely.

A few minutes later, Sean opened the door of a small stone house on the edge of the village.  Em was conscious of a sense of disappointment: it had been 30 years since her ancestors had lived here and she had no feeling of their presence.  There was a feeling of dampness in the empty rooms and she felt depressed.

“They liked the room at the back,” said Sean who seemed to sense that the first impression had not been favourable.  He led the way to a sunny room leading off the kitchen which gave a view on to a beautiful garden full of flowers.

“Oh, yes,” said Em, suddenly able to picture the elderly couple sitting and admiring the view.

Sean didn’t stop but led her into the garden and towards the beehives.

“Why bees?” asked Em.

Sean chuckled, “Well, the ‘ives was here … that were part of it … but Tony said … well, he said that Sherlock Holmes kept bees when he were old and that perhaps we could do the same.  Said if he hadn’t of decided to call me _Sean_ I’d have been his Watson!  He were a one for nicknames, your great-granddad were!”

“I know,” smiled Em.

“His missus … Catherine … tried to call me Steve – but she gave it up in the end.  Whole village calls me Sean!”

Em soon found she didn’t share Tony’s fascination with bees but she looked politely, and cautiously, at what she was shown.  It seemed, however, that she had gained Sean’s approval because after a while he came to a decision,

“I found something,” he said, “A few years back.  I were clearing out the potting shed …” he pointed to a nearby wooden shed, “It were an old desk … you know, with drawers in.”

“Yes?”

“Used to be in the summer ‘ouse what they had.  It’s gone now … rotted away … didn’t get the creosote on in time.  Anyways, when it fell down, I cleared the stuff out.  Desk were too good to throw away.  Your … Tony liked to sit in there sometimes.”

“The potting shed?”

“No!  The summer ‘ouse.  Said it were like his thinking place.”

“Oh.”

“And it were handy … for when he couldn’t get about as sprightly as what he did before.  He could pretend he were going for a walk around the garden when he were really going for a sit-down.”

Em smiled again at the thought of Tony wandering around this peaceful place.

“And I found some books in the desk,” said Sean.

“Yes?”

“Yes, you know … note books.  With his writing in them.”

“What!  You mean you’ve got his diaries?”

Sean was cautious, “Well … I’m not sure about that.  And I didn’t like to read them, but I reckon as what they’re his … would you like them?  Someone should have them.  I reckons you’re the best one to take’em.”

“I’d _love_ them!” said Em.  “Oh, thank you.  Thank you!”

“I got one here,” said Sean as he produced an exercise book from an inside pocket.

Em took the book and tried not to start reading it at once.  Sean was perceptive and saw her impatience.

“I got to tend the bees,” he said, “And then do some deadheading … why don’t you sit yourself down and have a good old read?  I’ll call you when I’m done.”

A few minutes later, with a slightly trembling hand, Em opened the book at random.  The ink had faded, and Tony’s handwriting was spidery, but she could still read most of what he had written …

TONY’S DIARY

Tali called today … first time in months … and she’d made sure to hide the satellite she was calling from.  I guess I could find out – or I could get someone to find out for me.  I’ve still got contacts.  But that’s Tali – she needs to keep it secret, or she thinks she does.  Maybe it’s part of her being independent … or perhaps it’s just her being Tali.

She looked well … tired, but healthy.  She was sitting in some plain white room … I hope that’s not where she’s living but I figure she was just sitting somewhere anonymous in case an over-protective father decided to try and trace her.

Wouldn’t tell me what she was doing – and I’m not sure it’s making her happy.  She had the same look that Ziva had when she went back to Israel all those years ago … restless, searching … sure that there was something she should find, something she should do … something to make it OK for her to be alive, justifying having air to breathe and food to eat.

I wanted to tell her … convince her … that she is loved and missed but I couldn’t convince her mother of that and I’ve never been able to convince her either.

She reminds me so much of Ziva … she didn’t so much when she was a child but when she grew up she became all Ziva.  She used to look at me in the same exasperated way that Ziva used to.  I never really felt that I was measuring up to her standards.  She was only with Ziva for a couple years; it was me who brought her up and yet … Ziva’s genes seemed to come out on top.  Should’ve guessed that, I suppose, and I can picture Ziva rolling her eyes as if to say, _Duh_! – although I can’t actually picture Ziva saying _Duh_.  Might qualify as a contraction and we know they weren’t up Ziva’s street.

I did my best with her.  She settled in with me … and C loved her.  And Tali loved Mark and Nicky when they came along … although she’d fight them if they tried to call me _Abba_.  Abba was her name for me and nobody else could use it.  She’d never call C Ima either – she was always Mommy, never Ima.

And she was a happy little girl.  I think I tried to give her the childhood that I thought Ziva never had.  I never took her into a forest and make her find her own way out.  I didn’t bring up a warrior, I didn’t make childhood an endurance test.  She had ballet lessons and I made sure I was at her recitals if I could be.  She was brought up with fun but I’m not sure that it ever took.  She was serious and solemn inside, just like her mother.

I’d always thought that I’d keep her though.  Sure, she went off to college like all kids do … but she never really came back.  She’d come for visits … but they got shorter and shorter and further and further apart.  It must be a year or so since she came but, so far, the calls still come but I worry that we’re losing her … that she’ll slip through our fingers just like Ziva did all those years ago.

I could find her if I tried.  I still know people in Interpol … still in contact with the CIA even if I haven’t consulted for them for a while … am I failing her?  Does she want to be found?  Is she hoping I’ll go looking?  I don’t know – I don’t think she wants to be chased … I think she’ll come home – back to us, to _me_ when she finds what she’s looking for.  And she’s in her forties now … a grown woman, she’s not my little girl anymore.  Except that she is and always will be … and I miss her.

Oh, Tali … come home, please!

END OF ENTRY

Em closed the book and found that she was looking at the garden through tears.  She had known vaguely of another child, a mysterious daughter who had been brought up with her grandfather and great-aunt but who didn’t figure much in family pictures once she was in her twenties.  Grandpa Mark and Auntie Nickie rarely spoke of her although, when they did, it was always with fondness.  Em sighed.  Tony’s sadness at the absence of his daughter seemed at odds with the cheerful face he presented to the world … perhaps he had found solace in the ordered life of bees.

Perhaps he had need of more solace than she’d realised.  Perhaps his life had not been all smooth and happy after all.  And why did he talk about contacts with security organizations and being able to trace people who didn’t want to be found?  There was more to her great-grandfather than she’d thought.


	4. Chapter 4

“The cottage is up for sale,” said Em casually as she walked to the pub with Pete that evening.

“What?” he asked absently as he checked his phone.

“The cottage,” she said.  “You’re not listening!”

“I am listening,” he protested, “But why would I be interested in a cottage being up for sale?”  He looked more closely at his wife and realised that her _innocent_ look was unconvincing.  “Em!  Why would we want to buy a cottage in the New Forest?”

“It’s a nice place,” she suggested, “You like the ponies on the road …”

“Until they block the traffic!”

“And the deer are cute …”

“Em!  What’s this about?  Are you serious about this?  It’s miles from our folks.”

“But distance doesn’t matter these days,” said Em, “Travel’s much quicker.  And there are travel terminals at Bournemouth and Southampton.”

“Em?”

“I know it’s not practical,” sighed Em, “But I love it here.  It’s so quiet and peaceful …”

“And?”

“And … well, the cottage is where they lived.  I could feel closer to them,” said Em.  “You’d like it.  There’s a great garden.”

“And who’d look after it for us?” asked Pete.

“I think Steve … Sean would,” said Em.

“Huh,” said Pete, “You don’t even know his name!”

“Yes, I do.  It’s just that Tony gave him a nickname.  I think he keeps an eye on the place already.”

“You sure he wasn’t scamming you?” asked Pete, “Seems a bit of a coincidence that the cottage happened to be empty.”

“He gave me a jar of honey!” protested Em.

“Then that must mean he’s trustworthy!” grinned Pete.

“And it would be a great place to bring up children,” said Em, holding a hand protectively over her stomach.

“Yeah, yeah, that’ll get me all the time,” said Pete, placing his hand on hers.  “But we wouldn’t be living here all the time, would we?”

“ _They_ lived here 3 months on, 3 months off,” said Em hopefully.

“We’ll think about it,” said Pete, “I’m not committing myself, understand?”

“Sean said that Great-granny used to sit and look at the garden, but Great-granddad used to sit in the front window and watch everyone walk by.”

Pete laughed, “You mean he was nosy – like you!”

Em laughed as well, “I’m not committing myself either!”

“Don’t forget, we’re going to London tomorrow.  To see the guy your Tony used to work for.”

“But we can look at the cottage afterwards?  And Sean said he had some more books for me …”

“Yeah, yeah.  You know, you’ve only got small hands, but you seem to be able to wind me around those fingers with no trouble at all!”

XXXXXX

The next morning, Pete and Em were waiting in the board room of an impressive Edwardian building in Cadogan Ave in London.

“Why didn’t Malcolm come as well?” asked Pete.  “He’s been doing all the research.”

“He said the guy would only talk to me … and to you.  Sounds as if some of what he tells us might not be OK for the programme.”

“Perhaps Tony was a _crook_ ,” said Pete with relish.

“Idiot,” said Em.  “Besides, the show likes scandal … Malcolm would have lapped it up.”

“True,” agreed Pete, “Then perhaps he was just really boring … he wants to tell us that there’s nothing to make an episode about.”

“Somehow I don’t think Tony was ever _boring_ ,” said Em before adding doubtfully, “Besides, he could have told us that over the phone … I mean, telling someone they’ve got a dull ancestor doesn’t require a special journey, does it?”

Their speculation was brought to an end with the entry of two men: one carrying an old-fashioned brief case and the other, a tea tray.

“Do excuse me for keeping you waiting,” said the older of the two men, indicating that the other man should put the tray down.  “I’m Christopher Carruthers, CEO of Global Services Incorporated.”

Pete stood up, “I’m Peter McHugh … this is my wife Emily … you’ll know her as Emilia Mark.”

“Of course, it’s a pleasure to meet you both.  My youngest grandson is a great admirer of yours, Mr McHugh … he loves Woody in Toy Story 23.  And Miss Mark, my elder granddaughter wants to be an underwater explorer after seeing you in _Golden Wave_.”

Pete and Em smiled politely and accepted an offer of coffee.

“I understand that NZQ is making a programme about your family, Miss Mark?” resumed Carruthers.

“That’s right.  I’m not sure where your company fits in,” said Em.

“You know, of course, that Mr DiNozzo … your great-grandfather was a federal agent for many years?”

“Yes.  NCIS … although it doesn’t exist now.  We haven’t been able to find out exactly what he did after that.  We think he worked for some international company.”

“Mr DiNozzo … Tony … went to live in Paris for a while after he left NCIS.  He had a … change in family responsibilities,” said Carruthers delicately.

“It’s all right,” smiled Em, “I know about his daughter.”

“Yes, well, it is my understanding that he felt he should cease being a federal agent.  It was, at the time, a very hazardous occupation.”

“And you know what happened afterwards?” asked Pete.

“Yes.  In fact, I knew Tony for some years,” said Carruthers.

Em sat up in some excitement, “You knew him?”

“Yes,” said Carruthers.

“Did he give you a nickname?” asked Pete.  Em glared at him and he shrugged, “Sorry, seems to be a habit of his.”

Carruthers chuckled, “I see you have learned something about him!  But no, no nicknames … apart from calling me CC.  My name is a bit of a mouthful so, please follow Tony’s example if you wish.”

“And what can you tell us, _CC_?” asked Em wanting to get back on track and suspecting that the men might gossip for hours.

“Indeed,” said CC, “This is delightful, but we should get down to the reason for your visit.  Tony looked around for a few weeks in France and then started doing some work for Interpol – at their office in Paris.  It was a desk job rather than being active in the field, but it suited him.”

“Interpol!” said Em, “I didn’t know about that.”

“It was only a short-term job … partly because what he was doing came to the attention of others.”

“Was it dangerous?” asked Em.

“You misunderstand, Miss Mark, the work he was doing garnered the attention of those who were looking for someone with his particular skill set.”

“Oh – I guessed that he was a good shot,” said Em, “And I suppose he could fight, if he needed to.”

“Indeed,” said CC, “But it turned out that those skills weren’t what were needed.  Did you know that Tony had relatives in Great Britain?”

Em nodded, “Yes.  Malcolm … our producer … is looking into them.  The Paddington family seems well-connected … he thought they might be interesting.  Americans still love an aristocratic family.”

“Yes,” said CC, “You are right to say that they are well-connected … not just for money but for influence.  The Paddingtons have a history of … secrecy.”

“You mean they’re _spies_?” asked Pete.

CC winced, “I wouldn’t put it in quite those terms, Mr McHugh but … yes, they are used to serving their country in less _overt_ ways.  Crispian Paddington, your Tony’s cousin, visited him in Paris and realised that Tony had certain skills which could be useful.  He informed my great-uncle who was also …”

“A spy?” said Pete, “I mean … serving his country in covert ways?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.  He was not employed as such by the government but offered his skills as required.  He was the Managing Director of Global Services Incorporated.  GSI specialises in surveying activities – you know, prospecting for minerals, precious stones and such like and had also expanded into helping firms working out how to protect the environment.  He thought that Tony would be a useful addition to his team.”

“Helping people find diamonds and gas?” asked Em doubtfully.  Somehow it didn’t sound something that Tony would have found interesting.

“It’s a highly skilled job,” said CC, “Getting people to remote areas can be difficult.  It takes knowledge and experience.”

“Maybe I was right,” said Pete to Em, “Tony was boring, after all.  Who knew?”

“Oh no,” said CC.  “Tony was involved in all that, but the company had another area of … expertise.”

“Yes?”

“We provided information and advice to governments who were concerned about crime and security threats.  That was where Tony came in.”

“What?” asked Em.

“It turned out that Tony had a particular skill in identifying security threats and weaknesses.  Give him the basic information and he could see patterns which could lead to finding the perpetrators.  It bordered on the brilliant.”

“I don’t understand,” said Em, “From what we’ve been able to find out he was a good NCIS agent but there was nothing to show … that.”

“No,” agreed CC, “And, had he remained as a federal agent, it might never have come to light.  You see, as an agent, he was required to be what you might call a _generalist_.  Some investigation of course, but also going to arrest people, gathering evidence and so on.  When he left the agency and was no longer able to do the arresting or physical gathering of evidence, his gift for the analysis came to the fore.  Interpol were amazed at what they found.”

“But he didn’t carry on working for Interpol?” asked Em.

“No.  His work with Interpol brought him into contact with several foreign governments and they realised that they had an asset, but they wanted to keep it under wraps.  My great uncle and Crispian Paddington came up with the idea of adding a new _division_ to GSI.  Working for friendly governments and using Tony’s abilities …”

“But why so secretively?” asked Pete, “Why not keep him working for Interpol?”

“It was felt safer to have him working for a non-security organization.  He was known as a good federal agent … nobody would feel it odd that he had taken his skills to GSI.  And indeed, he would have been welcomed to work here using his old skills.  And, if he was not working on a governmental task, he did work on getting people safely to survey sites.  It was an excellent cover.”

“And what would have happened if his _skills_ had been discovered?” asked Em.

“I fear he would have suffered some sort of accident,” said CC.  “Tony’s work led to the scotching of many dangerous plots … the security services of unfriendly powers were much weakened.  Had they known how the plots were thwarted – well, I don’t think Tony would have lived long to tell the tale.  As it was, he lived an open life with nobody aware of his other _activities._   He worked here until his 70s and continued to consult on an ad-hoc basis for some years after that.  It was then that I had the good fortune to work with him.”

“He didn’t work in London all that time though, did he?” asked Pete, seeing that Em looked bewildered at the revelation.

“No.  We had offices in other parts of the world and he went to our Washington office although he was a regular visitor to London.”

“And nobody knew?” asked Em.

“People knew that he worked for GSI,” said CC, “But it doesn’t have a very memorable name … and he told them about his survey work.  I’m sure it sounded all very worthy and …”

“Dull?” suggested Pete.

“As you say,” said CC.

“And his family didn’t know?  I’m sure Granddad Mark doesn’t know,” said Em.

“I couldn’t say,” said CC, “Although, of course, Sophie knew.”

“Sophie?  Who’s Sophie?”

“Tony’s wife.”

“But Tony was married to Catherine …”

“Ah, yes … and no.  Catherine Sophia Mark - but she usually went by her second name and preferred Sophie to Sophia,” said CC.  “Tony was the only person who called her Catherine … or, usually, Cat.”

“And she knew what Tony did?”

“Oh yes, and I think she was the reason he took the job,” said CC.

“What?”

“She was already working for GSI.  In our library and archives.  She travelled to Paris sometimes with my Great-uncle … and she and Tony met.  She wanted to live in London and Tony was _persuaded.”_

“So, Catherine … Cat … Sophie was a librarian?” asked Pete.

CC coughed in a way the couple had learned to mistrust.

“Of course.”

“Why do I think that might not be all that she did?” asked Em.

“Cat certainly trained in information science,” said CC, “She took a degree in that subject from Aberystwyth University and she joined GSI as a graduate trainee.”

“Yes?” said Pete sceptically.

“And it turned out, as with Tony, that she had great talent in amassing and assessing evidence.  She and Tony made a formidable team.”

“She was a spy too?” asked Em.

“No, my dear, she was a librarian,” said CC firmly but with a twinkle in his eye.

Em groaned.

“What’s the matter, Em?” asked Pete anxiously.

“I always thought I was the _interesting_ person in my family,” said Em, “And now it turns out that I’m probably the _least_ interesting!”

“The move to DC made things easier in some ways,” said CC, tactfully ignoring Em’s self-deprecation.

“Why?” asked Pete in a long-suffering voice.

“It so happened that a former co-worker of his, Timothy McGee, wanted to leave active field work.  He was snapped up to work with GSI as well.  As with Tony, the ability to concentrate on one aspect of work, paid dividends.  McGee was easily able to assume the apparent role of an IT director while assisting Tony and Sophie with their other tasks.”

“Oh,” said Em, “I’ve seen an interview of Tim and Tony together.  It’s hard to picture them as security experts … they were just joking around!”

“It was another cover,” said CC.  He allowed Pete and Em a few moments to finish their drinks and try to absorb what they had heard.  “You will understand, I hope, that much of what your great-grandparents did for GSI will have to remain secret.”

“But it’s years since the stuff he was involved in,” said Em.

CC coughed, “That is true … but we would prefer that GSI continue to be thought of as primarily a mining and environmental company …”

Pete and Em realised that GSI probably still had a _special_ division doing work for friendly governments.  They nodded.

“It’s a shame,” said Em, “I would’ve liked him to be known as a hero.”

“I’m sorry,” said CC, “But we think it best.  I wanted you to know the truth, however, in tribute to a brilliant couple.  I have some of his notebooks here … they have been redacted to remove sensitive information, but you may find them of interest.  We also have recordings of some of his interaction with others.  I believe that some of his cases from NCIS are going to be made available to you.”

“Why?” asked Pete.

CC chuckled, “Former employees of NCIS are disgruntled that the agency was absorbed into an Armed Forces agency.  I believe they think that publicity around old cases might serve their purpose of getting it re-established.”

Em took the bundle of documents from CC.  “More reading,” she said.  “Thank you very much, CC: it’s been enlightening.  _Golden Wave 2_ is out soon, I’ll ask the studio to send your family tickets to the premiere.”

“Thank you, Miss Mark … Mr McHugh.  You can be proud of your ancestor … and I think he’d be proud of you – he really was a movie fanatic, you know.  He told me once that remembering all the plot details was what had trained his memory to spot patterns in real life.”

Pete and Em made their farewells and then decided to go for a walk along the Serpentine before going back to Hampshire.

“Em,” said Pete, “You know the studio’s always looking for new ideas?”

“Yes?”

“How about suggesting they make a show about this NCIS?”

“What?”

“I get the impression that it must have been a weird place … I mean, that guy wrote those whacky books about it … the old employees can’t bear it’s shut down …”

“I suppose,” said Em doubtfully.

“ _And_ it employed your Great-granddad Tony … the more I find out about him the more I think it must have been some sort of madhouse.  It would make a great movie!”

Em didn’t reply.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning … another ‘major character death’ …

“I found something!” said Pete later that night when they were back in Bowford.

“What?” asked Em absently; she was leafing through another book that Sean had given her.

“You remember Tony’s Boss – the one who dished out the headslaps?”

“Yes?” said Em a little disapprovingly.

“He died.  In 2042 – not long after that interview Tony did with his old co-worker …”

“Not so old,” Em pointed out.  “Turned out they were working together after NCIS.”

“Yeah, whatever … anyway, Tibbs died …”

“Gibbs,” corrected Em.  “Tibbs was in the book.”

“Look,” said Pete, “D’you want me to tell you what I found?”

“Sorry … I didn’t mean to sound cross.  But why am I going to be interested in knowing that the headslapper died?”

“Wow, you’ve got harsh all of a sudden,” said Pete, “What about your famous empathy and understanding?”

“I’ve got all that!” protested Em, “Forgive me for not weeping over someone who died 50 years ago … and who may not have been all that nice to my great-grandfather!”

“You got that from the headslaps?”

“What do you think I should get from them?” asked Em.

“Fair enough,” conceded Pete, “But your Tony must have cared about him.”

“What makes you think that?”

“He went to the funeral … and he gave the eulogy.  I figure you only do that if you care.”

How do you know?  I mean, that he did all that?”

Peter tapped at his computer screen smugly, “’Cos it was filmed.  And I found a copy.  You want to see what Great-grandpa Tony said?”

“I knew there was a reason I married you,” said Em leaning over to kiss her husband on the cheek.  “Why was it filmed?”

“Watch,” advised Pete.

He swiped an icon and the film began to play and Em heard the commentary start.

“Stillwater says goodbye to one of its famous sons today … Leroy Jethro Gibbs was born and brought up in this quiet mining town.  He left in 1976 as a troubled teen to fulfil a lifelong ambition to become a Marine …”

“They teach headslaps in the Marine Corps?” asked Em bitterly.

“Hush,” said Pete.

“Sorry,” said Em, “I just wondered …”

“How would you feel if people talked through one of _your_ movies?” asked Pete.

“About the same as you do,” admitted Em.

“I’ll fast forward,” said Pete, “Get to the bit you’re interested in.”

Em leaned forward again as the minister spoke,

“Leroy saw distinguished service in the Marine Corps … as witness the medals he won,” he gestured towards the coffin where his medals rested on the US flag.  “But after he left the Corps, he joined the Naval Investigative Service – later the Naval Criminal Investigative Service - as a federal agent where he remained until his retirement.  I’m pleased to say that one of his co-workers – Anthony DiNozzo – is here to speak about his time at NCIS.  Tony …”

Tony walked to the lectern and paused for a moment to survey the congregation.  He grinned,

“I should get on with this.  I can imagine Gibbs growling at me, “Don’t take all day, DiNozzo!  These people have got better things to do than listen to you!”  There was a ripple of knowing laughter.  “But, _Boss_ , I’m in charge today and I reckon these good people have come because they want to listen to me … well, not to listen to me _per se_ , but to hear about you.  So, Marine, you’ll have to suck it up!”

“God,” sighed Tony, “Gibbs would hate this, wouldn’t he?  Us all gathered together – to _talk_ about him.  You know, I once called him a functional mute: admittedly I’d been injected with a truth drug at the time, but I reckon I never said a truer thing about him.  If you knew Gibbs, you’d know that talking wasn’t something he favoured but he could talk when he needed to … and he knew when not to!  I could tell you stories about the number of criminals he got to confess simply by staring at them.  And I guess you’ve probably all got stories about when he did it to you … not that I’m saying any of you are crooks, but I wouldn’t mind guessing that you found yourself spilling your secrets just because he looked at you!”

Again, there was a sympathetic wave of laughter and people shared rueful looks with their friends.

“Gibbs and I didn’t get off to the best of starts,” continued Tony, “I tackled him to the ground, he punched me in the face and then I drew my gun on him before slapping handcuffs on him and arresting him!”

Laughter again.

“But things got better after that,” said Tony.  “… marginally!  No, I don’t mean that.  I was in a pretty bad place at the time and he saw something in me … something he thought was worth saving.  And Gibbs being Gibbs, he did.  I reckon Gibbs pretty did whatever he set out to do.  I won’t say that working for Gibbs was easy, but we always knew he didn’t drive us any harder than he drove himself.  Gibbs was passionate, driven and committed and he wouldn’t settle for anything less in those who worked for him.”

“I learned a lot about the job and about life from Jethro Gibbs.  And I learned something about myself too – that I didn’t want to settle for second best either.  I won’t say I always agreed with Gibbs and he wouldn’t have wanted me to.  Gibbs never wanted a yes-man although sometimes it took ba-guts to stand my ground.  And I could’ve done with wearing some sort of helmet … he liked to get my attention with a well-directed slap to the head.  I clung to the idea that it was a sign of affection – and not a sign of incipient brain damage!”

“You all knew Jethro Gibbs, so you know that he had strong views … and a strong sense of what was right and what was wrong.  That sense didn’t always jibe with what other people thought but Gibbs never really cared about what other people thought.  Yes, he made mistakes, but I think he was on the side of the angels more often than not.”

“I sometimes thought you saw the real Gibbs … the best of him … when he was with kids.  I guess he liked them because they hadn’t learned how to be cynical yet – they see the world clearly and in black and white: that was like Gibbs, he didn’t really do shades of grey.  My kids loved him … I reckon it’s down to him that they could live in the woods for weeks without needing to go buy groceries!  That’s a good thing – but I’m a responsible parent and I made damn sure he didn’t teach any of them to drive!”

Laughter again.

“And I think it’s down to him that my youngest kid is off to college to do entomology.  Thanks, Boss – it’s because of you that my house is filled with _interesting_ bugs!  For such a quiet guy, Gibbs was larger than life … drank more coffee than anyone I’d ever known, didn’t seem to need any sleep … made connections – well, you get the idea.”

“And considering that he could be a gruff so-and-so, he had lots of friends.  He might not do the socialising the rest of us do but he’d be there if you needed him.  You know, Reverend, I’m surprised he didn’t jump up from the casket when you said _he’d left the Marines_ – he’d have told you there’s no such thing as an ex-Marine!  And his co-workers would agree after spending a few years working with him.  I was always surprised when he bled that the blood wasn’t green rather than red and I guess that _loyalty_ was imprinted on his heart.” 

Tony swallowed before continuing, “You know, I wasn’t really surprised when I got the news that Gibbs had passed – not because he was a good age, although he was but because of how he died.  If I’d got the call and it turned out that Gibbs died in a rocking chair on his stoop – then I would’ve been surprised; that wouldn’t be Gibbs’ style at all.  But jumping into a lake to save two little girls who were drowning … that’s all Gibbs.  He died as he lived, a hero.”

The congregation nodded and the parents of the two little girls hugged them a little closer.

“So, thanks, Boss,” said Tony.  “It was an honour to serve with you and a privilege to say these words … even if you do think that I said about a thousand too many!  You loomed large in our lives, Gibbs and you’ll leave a gap in them too.  Semper Fi, Boss … and say _Hi_ to the people we lost along the way!”

Tony nodded and walked towards the coffin when he paused with a hand resting near the NCIS jacket which was also draped there.  “Thanks, Boss,” he whispered.

Pete lowered the sound and turned to look at Em, “Well?”

“I guess he cared for him,” she said.  “Those were nice things he said.”

“Yeah,” agreed Pete, “I figure he might have been leaving some stuff out, but you got the sense of a real person.  Sometimes you listen to a tribute and you can’t get a grasp of what the person was like … but …”

“I know what you mean,” agreed Em, “He spoke well … he had those people in the palm of his hand, didn’t he … and they knew Gibbs and it seemed to me that they recognised the person they knew.  I reckon Tony found the words they needed.”

“Yes.  I guess that’s something else that’s come down through the years.  A way with words and a way with an audience!”

“Was it filmed because of the way Gibbs died?” asked Em.

“Think so.  It was a big story in a small town … community TV station … it was easy enough to do.”

“Is he buried there?” asked Em.

Pete looked at his computer screen, “Hmm.  Don’t think so … looks like he was visiting Stillwater when he died so they had the service there, but he was taken to be buried with his first wife … back near DC.”  He groaned when he saw Em’s face.

“What?” she said.

“Don’t tell me!  When we get back to the States we need to find the grave and lay some flowers there!”

“Well …”

“A few minutes ago, you hated him for slapping your relative!”

“I can change my mind,” protested Em, “And Tony obviously cared about him … and it might be that nobody goes visit him now.”

“Em!”

“Hey, we’ve done all that research into flowers that rabbits don’t eat … it’d be a shame to waste it!”

“I guess,” said Pete reluctantly, “Although I’m surprised you care!”

“Of course I care!” said Em indignantly.

“No, not about Gibbs.  I figured you’d feel sorry for the bunnies not having flowers they like …”

Em looked momentarily stricken before rallying, “We’ll take them some carrots …”

 


	6. Chapter 6

_Sean and I finished getting the beehives ready for winter today.  He brought his uncle Jim with him to make sure we did it right and then we went to the Rufus Inn to celebrate … 35 pounds of honey in our first year.  Wish I liked honey!_

_Cat was right to say I’d enjoy looking after the bees – how did she know?  I don’t like getting stung … and it was even worse the day that Sean got stung – but I’ve grown to like the little critters.  I reckon I like how organized they are, how they all work together and never seem to get in each other’s way.  Brings back memories of how it was in NCIS – some of the time anyway!_

_Sometimes I’ve just sat in the yard … sorry, garden … and listened to them humming: it’s a very contented sound.  And that gave me a clue about why I like the bees – it’s not really the Sherlock Holmes retired detective connection!  I had a pretty chaotic childhood after Mom died.  Off to boarding school … and then to another and another – and yes, I know it was mostly my fault.  The minister at Gibbs’ funeral talked about him being a troubled teen but I reckon I’d have given him a run for his money in the ‘troubled teens’ stake!_

_I think I spent my life trying to get things under control and that’s because there were a lot of years when I wasn’t in control of anything much.  When I look back to my apartment in DC – how immaculate it was, how all those DVDs were alphabetised … how I tried to have a list of rules for guests … well, says a lot.  Maybe that’s why I went into law enforcement – trying to get things under control.  People figured I was pretty anarchic but that was just for show – deep down, I wanted security and certainty.  I wanted to be a bee!  And not one of those drones – although it would have been good for a while but really I was a worker bee … even if Senior never quite understood that!  Maybe it’s the Paddington genes showing through._

_And today, when we added up how much honey we’d harvested (is that the right word?) I felt this sense of satisfaction – of achievement.  We’ll take some of it back when we go home for Christmas, but Sean will take the rest to the village shop to sell.  He’s a good kid … not sure why he’s stuck with me.  Some of my former co-workers would say it’s because we’re the same mental age!_

_Anyway, that sense of satisfaction made me remember what it was like when we solved a case at NCIS and later at GSI.  I always liked that feeling but, until today, I’d never thought of it as a sense of satisfaction of having achieved something but now I reckon that solving a case was creative in some way.  It made a difference to someone’s life – I would’ve preferred to have stopped something bad happening in the first place but at least we could stop it happening again.  And the work at GSI – that did stop bad things happening in the first place.  Huh!  Wonder why I never really saw it as being a good thing?_

_Maybe it’s because NCIS never really got recognition for what we did.  And GSI did everything under the radar.  Was it because what we did was unseen that I didn’t see it for what it was?  Perhaps if I hadn’t spent so much time playing sport – and getting applause – I’d have realised earlier that you don’t have to get public recognition for something to be worthwhile.  Who knows?  Better late than never._

_Don’t get me wrong – I always loved the work, solving the puzzles, working it out, working in a team … but somehow, I’d thought it was almost selfish to be doing something I enjoyed and that I was good at.  How did someone make me think that doing something you enjoyed was self-indulgent somehow?  Don’t think that came from Senior!  Another concept which would have been foreign to him … perhaps it skipped a generation?  I figure his grandparents must have had a pretty strong work ethic when they came to the US._

_Anyhow, at a ripe old age, I’m at peace now with what I did … and it’s good to know that the old brain is still working!  Not just with the bees – but Sean and I are pretty damn proud of ourselves!  But with the other puzzles – Cat and I worked out who switched the fruit cakes at the village fete!  And who the secret flower arranger is at the church … not that it matters -  but we’re still a good team._

_I’m glad Cat suggested we come here.  Of course, she had memories of visiting her cousins in the New Forest when she was a kid, but I never thought we’d both fall in love with the place.  It’s got all the technology now but somehow I can imagine that basically life is still much the same as it was 200 or 300 years ago.  Perhaps the ponies roaming the roads slows everything down?  Don’t know … and you know, I don’t care – this place is good for the soul.  Although I’ll be happy enough when we get back to DC and see the kids._

_McGoo messaged to say his new book is out next week – Agents Tommy and MacGregor go to live in a Retirement Community and come to blows over the nubile dance instructor brought in to keep the oldies’ joints from seizing up.  I don’t know whose fantasy that is!  Although, looking back, I reckon McGoo must have had a pretty fevered imagination when we were stuck in that squad room: who knows what would have happened if he hadn’t found release in the exploits of Tibbs!  No, that’s a rabbit warren I don’t want to go down!  It’ll be good to catch up though._

_When I was at NCIS I never really imagined getting old … guess I figured I’d go down in a blaze of glory … or a hail of bullets … or my head would finally roll off my shoulders after one too many headslaps!  So that’s a way of saying I never really prepared for old age – although I guess nobody does really … I still feel about 35 inside but my mirror tells me lies!  And I never … never … never expected to be happily married with children who don’t hate me – I don’t think they do anyway.  And if they do, they hide it well – perhaps they’re good actors!  But I am contented – most of the time!  Yes, it’s frustrating that I don’t see as well as I did – the old 20/20 vision has long gone.  And I can’t walk as fast as I once did … and people mumble a lot, so I don’t always catch what they say … but, on the whole, I’m contented … and happy.  Maybe people don’t know that I saved the world (hey, this is my private journal, I can fantasize!) but it doesn’t matter … I think I did more good than I did harm.  And that’s enough._

“Em!” came Pete’s voice.

Em looked up from the journal she’d been reading, “Hi!” she smiled.

“What’s up?”

“What do you mean?”

“I just spoke to Malcolm.  He said we’re moving off to Hedley tomorrow.”

“Henley,” corrected Em, “Henley-on-Thames.”

“But why?  I thought we were here for a few days.  There’s more to find out about Tony, isn’t there?”

“Malcolm’s found out that Tony’s Paddington relatives can trace their ancestry back to 1066.”

“What?”

“They came over with William the Conqueror.”

“And that’s important?”

“Seems to be.  And one branch of the family sailed in the Mayflower in 1620.”

“Wow!  That’s pretty cool.”

“Yes.”

“So why Hedley … sorry, Henley-on-Thames?”

“It’s where the Paddingtons’ house is … mansion really.  This huge Georgian mansion on the banks of the river.”

“But I thought the programme was going to be about Tony?” said Pete.

“Malcolm thinks that the Paddington connection is more interesting … we always said that the aristocratic background would be a big seller back home,” said Em.

“So, not so much about Tony?”

“Nothing about Tony.”

“What?”

“Malcolm realises that there’s not a lot of information out there about Tony … a lot of it is secret,” said Em.

“But we found some good stuff!  That interview with McGee is gold …”

“Yes,” said Em a little doubtfully.

“It made _you_ laugh,” said Pete.

“Yes.  And I guess we could find more stuff like that … and that eulogy you found had funny moments.”

“Em?”

“What?”

“You don’t seem all that upset that Tony’s going to hit the cutting room floor.”

“Do they still have those?” asked Em.  “I mean, nobody actually uses _film_ anymore.”

“Don’t try and change the subject,” said Pete sternly.

“Well, I can see it’ll be difficult to find out more about Tony,” said Em.  “And we know that it needs to be an interesting show.”

“ _Emily_ ,” said Pete.

“ _Peter?_ ” replied Em.

“I know you.  You’re up to something.  Your great-grandfather has become your hero … why are you giving up on him so easily?”

Em sighed, “I think … I don’t think we’ll do him justice.  I don’t want him to just look like a charming, funny person … I think there’s more to him than that.”

“We could find it,” said Pete, “GSI said they had some stuff we could use.  And the NCIS archives – there’ll be stuff in that.”

“I know,” said Em, “But … I don’t think he’d want that.  I’ve been reading his journals … and I think he was deeper … more complex than people realised.  And he’d come to terms with his work not being talked about – he didn’t mind.  He was contented – he loved his family, he loved Cat … he loved his bees … he loved his puzzles … he didn’t need more than that.  I don’t think we should drag him into the public eye now.  We wouldn’t do him justice – and if we can’t capture him than I think we should leave things as they are.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.  Here, read this …” Em handed Pete the latest diary she had been reading.

Pete took the book but didn’t start reading, “I spoke to the Estate Agent who’s selling the cottage …”

“Yes?”

“It’s still up for sale.  Do you still want to buy it?”

Em thought for a moment and then said, “No.  It was a dream – but it’s not _our_ dream.  We can come back and visit but … no, I don’t want to stay here.  Sean will look after the graves … they’ll be OK.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.  Let’s find somewhere to make our own dreams … our own place of contentment.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Pete.  He laid a hand on hers, “Em …”

“Yes?”

“Did _you_ tell Malcolm about the Paddingtons?”

“What?”

“Did you make him think that they would make a better show than Tony would?”

“Well …”

“’cos I reckon he was still up for finding out about secret agent superhero Tony DiNozzo and his merry band of mad investigators …”

“Maybe …”

“Until you distracted him.  Em, was it you who decided you wanted Tony to stay where he was?”

“I guess …” said Em.  “I just thought we might get it wrong … and I know it sounds daft, but I didn’t want to let him down.  I think other people did that and I didn’t want to be another one who did.”

“You’re completely mad,” said Pete, “But I love you.”

“Despite me being completely mad?” grinned Em.

“No, _because_ you’re completely mad!”

“And …” continued Em.

“And what?” asked Pete with well-founded suspicion.

“And we could always make a movie … about a secret agent superhero Tony – who is always underestimated.  It could be a blockbuster!”

“Like I said, completely mad,” said Pete.

“And?”

“Sounds good to me …”

 


End file.
